Requiem
by WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: Kim and Ron have supported one another their entire lives, but now, faced with one of the hardest sitches they will ever see, will they make it? Romance, drama, spiritual, supernatural. Extended summary inside.


Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible. The Requiem mass belongs to, well, itself by now, I'd suppose.

_-Full Summary-  
Life is too often wasted, potential never fully realized. A great prodigy, a hero, may dwell amongst the shadows, too shrouded in darkness to see their own light, a spark needing only kindling to ignite. A girl and a boy, that's always the story; a boy and a girl with a dream. To live forever without pain, to be free of evil and strife, to sleep safe, and they live to fulfill this ideal._

_A Note from the Authoress: Here it is. Finally. This first chapter was one of the hardest things I've ever had to write, and here it is! Not much to say at this point, except that you're in for a very interesting ride, as this is a very interesting story. And by interesting, I mean odd. Many very touchy topics will be addressed along the way, and I ask you to push through them, because it's going to prove to be a bumpy journey. With that said, sit back and enjoy!_

_Many, many thanks to MrDrP for the awesome beta. Everyone, if you haven't, go check out his stuff. It rocks in stereo._

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* * *

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**Pars Prima**

Walking beside her best friend, Kim Possible made her way to Latin class, the school newspaper clutched tightly within her hands as she glanced down to skim through its contents. She was, by far, Middleton High's most interesting and ambitious student, holding a firm spot on the honor roll, being the captain of the cheer squad, participating in multiple other school sponsored extracurricular activities, all on top of saving the world from time to time. But despite all this, she was not the type to choose only the most socially acceptable friends and not let any others into her heart; her best friend was certainly not the type one would think to find with a cheerleader, and she was okay with that. They'd known one another since preschool, and depended on one another more than most married couples do. "Looks like our chem classes are going to be in the teachers' lounge this week," she murmured, rumpling the thin paper, causing it to stand at attention.

"Someone set fire to the labs again?" guessed Ron Stoppable, trying to peek over her shoulder at the article. Yes, Ron was Kim's best friend, her confidant, her goofy sidekick. He was clumsy, humorous and anything but normal, but that rarely was cause to bother her (only his position as school mascot ever had so great an effect on her, and she'd eventually learned to cope with it). He'd always been there for her, whether it was babysitting two little demons whose parents had the audacity to call children, or disarming a doomsday device, and it only further strengthened their bond. He rested his forearm against her shoulder, still searching for the article.

She shook her head. "Nah, looks like someone dropped a case of chemicals they'd found in the storage room." She searched the page further. "Oh, no . . . it's Mrs. Farrell. Looks like she's at the hospital for some tests."

"Wow, that's too bad," Ron mourned for a moment, before realizing what a teacher's absence meant. Instantly more energetic, he pumped his fist in the air. "Substitute, here we come!"

Kim snickered and glanced over at him for a second. "You mean, 'Barkin, here we come,' don't you?" Her smile only broadened when she saw his shoulders slump forward in defeat.

"Funny look, Kim," he told her. "He's still caught on that funny look in the ninth grade."

She rolled her eyes. "I think you're taking this a little too seriously."

"Paranoia does pay off every now and then, KP," he informed her.

She shrugged, flipping to the next page as they turned down the next hallway. "Hmmm . . ." she looked through a few reviews of CDs and movies before stopping on a more serious article. "_The Startling Truth,_" she read aloud. "_Did you know that in America, every two minutes a woman is raped? Even more frightening than that, a large number of rape crimes are not reported, whether in fear of the rapist or shame in the privacy of the matter . . ._" she trailed off, reading silently for a few moments. "_One of every four rapes occurs in a public area, and only 31 of reports say the rapist was a stranger._" She continued through the article for several moments, Ron looking curiously (albeit rather disturbed) over her shoulder.

She folded up the paper, and the two stood in shocked silence, standing just outside the door to Latin. "Well, that's something to ruin someone's day," Ron ventured boldly, trying to break the silence.

Kim laughed nervously in response, tucking the paper under her arm. "Yeah," she said quietly, contemplating the statistics. After all the good she'd done for the world, after all the strength of which she tried to show women they were capable, after all the super villains she'd sent to jail, some ordinary guy could ruin a woman's life forever. She looked up at Ron briefly, and he offered her an awkward grin. "So," she began, breaking her funk, "Did you study for the quiz today?"

His face took on a surprised look. "Quiz? What quiz?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "The enormous Latin quiz we have today?"

"Oh," he sighed, relieved. "That." He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Of course not."

Kim laughed and shook her head, entering the room and looking over her shoulder at him. "How did I guess?"

He smiled. "You know me all too well, KP."

"Over a decade of friendship can do that to you," she commented with a smirk. They took their seats with a little more chit chat, tugging their Latin textbooks out of their bags.

The bell rang and, instead of their Latin teacher, Mrs. White, entered Steve Barkin.

"Mr. Barkin?" Ron asked incredulously, having trouble grasping how this man could be in so many places at once.

"Yes, Stoppable," Barkin droned, pacing in front of the classroom. "It seems Mrs. White has fallen ill, so I will be covering this class until further notice." He stopped at the teacher's desk and began examining the lesson plans.

"How does he do that?" Ron whispered to Kim, eliciting a little giggle from her.

Barkin closed the book suddenly, looking at them. "Latin is not fun and games, Stoppable, Possible. It's hard work."

Ron shrank back in his seat, withdrawing from Kim.

"So," Barkin proclaimed loudly. "Open your books to Chapter Six on page one-sixty-three." He opened his own book to the marked page and set it on the podium at the front of the room. "The Requiem Mass."

"Ummm . . . Mr. Barkin," Brick Flagg, Middleton's star quarterback, ventured boldly, if not stupidly, "I thought this was Latin, not religion."

Barkin looked over at the young man angrily. "I'll have you know, Mr. Flagg, that the Requiem Mass is one of the most enduring pieces of the Latin language. The piece is written exclusively in Latin, except for the Kyrie which is Greek. No need to worry, though, we will be studying all the movements here."

The entire class moaned as one, save Kim who seemed entranced by the jumble of text before her. She skimmed through the foreign words and their English translations, her fingers running along the page, following the paths of her eyes. Ron looked over at her curiously, but she was not to be interrupted. The passage that lay before her beckoned her, summoned her to its depths, and there she stayed.

_Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis._

* * *

"Shego!" Drakken roared, glaring at the photograph before him. "Why is it that this family can't just leave me alone?" The images smiled back at him tauntingly, one, recognizable as an ex-friend, was a middle aged man, with two identical boys below him grinning at the camera, almost the same as their father, save their eyes which were blue like their mothers'. Beside them was a blonde boy, awkward and in his late teens, obviously not biologically related to the rest, but from his smile it was obvious he belonged there all the same. On the other side were two women, mirror images of one another except for those very small differences. One was much older than the other, with shorter hair and blue eyes instead of green. 

"You know," the green woman said, staring at the picture from over his shoulder. "I can see why you wouldn't have thought that your old dork school buddy was Kimmie's dad." She plucked the little paper from his hands, examining it even more closely. It was true; the teen hero shared no physical characteristics with her father, and her intelligence would be more easily attributed to her mother with their similar logic and processes of thought. "They don't look a thing alike!"

Drakken grumbled for a moment before snatching back the item. "Give me that!" He pouted overdramatically, glaring at the smiling figures. "You're right, though," he said thoughtfully after a while, "They look like they could be clones."

Shego stalked over and sat on the other side of the room again, filing her nails. "Makes you wonder if Jimmy-boy really is her father, huh?" She smirked sarcastically.

Drakken remained brooding for a few moments, contemplating this teen hero and her family, until Shego's words finally hit him. "Her father, eh?" he said, grinning maniacally and sitting up a bit straighter.

"Well, yeah," she replied slowly, not quite sure what he was getting at. After all, she was joking before. "She looks so much like her mother, her father could be just about anyone."

"Yes . . ." his smile broadened. "Just about anyone."

"Dr. D.!" she yelled, trying to drag him out of that crazed mood. "You're doing that . . . that . . ." she waved her hands vaguely. "That eye twitchy thing again!"

He laughed quietly. "Shego, you're brilliant." He leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the table in front of him. "Have I ever told you that?"

She regarded him cautiously, circling him slowly, quietly, cat-like. "No," she said. "No, you haven't." She stopped thoughtfully, hoping that, for once, his plan was somewhat reasonable. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

Drakken looked at her, his eyes alight. "It's quite simple, Shego, don't you get it?"

Her gaze narrowed to a hardened glare. "Spill it," she demanded.

"Well," he began, standing to pace back and forth dramatically. "Maybe he isn't her father after all." He seemed so accomplished and joyful at this deduction that she couldn't help but believe him for just the briefest of moments, but, after all, if she were a bastard, she would not be prejudiced in these times, only perhaps her parents would be. It would sure be a shock, though.

"Uh . . . Dr. D." she stammered upon coming to her senses. "Isn't that, I don't know," her voice took on that hard edge again, "jumping to conclusions?" She gave him that 'I'm smarter than you' look.

Drakken seemed to wilt for a moment, realizing his defeat, but then his smile once more returned. "But . . . does she know that?"

She quirked a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"Shego," he lectured seriously. "Who's the evil mastermind here?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

He ended their anything but witty banter with a hardened stare. "If I told her she's an illegitimate child with some form of contrived proof, it would undoubtedly crush her spirit for good!"

From the beginning, Shego had hope that maybe, just maybe, Drakken might have something good here, something beyond crushing Kim Possible's spirit and ruling the world. Maybe for once crushing Kimmie? But no, this was Dr. Drakken, and for all his supposed scientific genius and great aspirations of ruling the world, he still had the mentality and conceptual reasoning of a small child. "Dr. D., you do realize that all that'll do is make Kimmie really pissed at her mother, don't you?" If the look on Shego's face weren't enough, the way she stared so menacingly down at him was. She tapped her finger against the hip that was popped to one side.

Drakken slumped forward in thought, considering Shego's hurtful words. For once, he took them seriously, realizing the truth behind them. But, he realized, this was an interesting angle he'd just stumbled upon; one that could prove extremely useful. But how? The chances James Possible was not Kim Possible's biological father were slim, particularly considering how close he and his wife were. Yes, he knew everything about them, bent on revenge for James' cruel jokes at his expense, back when he was simply Drew Lipsky, bottom of his class. But it was something to look into, if anything he had the thought to lie to her in the midst of battle to get the upper hand. But, if by some wonderful work of fate, she was a bastard child . . . well, then, surely he'd be able to dig up (or create) some dirt on her real father.

He grinned. "Shego?"

"Yes, Dr. D.?" replied a less than enthused Shego.

"I need another sample of Kim Possible's DNA."

_Exaudi orationem meam; ad te omnis caro veniet._

* * *

Dr. Ann Possible made her way down the familiar street in the heart of downtown Middleton. For the past eighteen years, she'd made the same trip, and, although the scenery along the way had changed, the sound of her high heels against the pavement of the sidewalk, and the utter beauty of her destination had not. 

There was the park, that place where her Kim and Ron had spent countless hours, both in their childhood and even now in their teenage years. It was also where her boys, Jim and Tim, often took their inventions after she scolded them for having rocket fuel in the house. But, most importantly, it was where her husband had proposed to her.

She smiled upon thinking of him. _James . . ._ He was her sanity, quite literally too. They'd been through so much together, and he was always on her side, holding her hand through the toughest moments of her life. He'd always offered to go with her on these trips of hers, but she'd always insisted this was something she had to do on her own. He still claimed it wasn't her fault and she needn't even take these little expeditions, but, as always, she assured him that this was something she felt obligated to do, and that, when the time was right, she'd stop.

But that time was nowhere in sight.

She sighed, turning her attention to the rhythmic sounds of her footsteps. She walked slowly, in no need to keep this visit short. She'd walked all the way from her home, wanting the time to think, the time to be alone. It was tough, she thought, to be so brave, to always wear a smile and perpetually push away that persistent urge to just break down and cry. And so she never got angry, she never let that smile leave her face, at least not until she was in her own bed, sobbing into the bare shoulder of her own dear man, casting all inhibitions aside to just weep and cling to his strong form, safe within the soundproof walls of their room.

Presently, she brushed away an icy tear, scorning her weakness at containing her emotions. It was so hard not to cry when she thought about what had happened, even if it had been so long ago. But she was better now, threatened only by the phantom of a memory, no longer trembling at the sound of footsteps far off, nor at the sight of a white feather, glowing in the moonlight.

It was crazy, and she knew it.

Her destination was in sight, the large Catholic cathedral she visited annually. No, she wasn't Catholic, nor was her family, but this was the only place in which she could possibly find that which she sought. The building smiled down at her, stained glass windows gleaming in the light, a beacon of hope for the lost. She approached it, her speed increasing as she did so. She stumbled a few times, regaining her footing almost immediately.

She ran up the steps, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She entered the church, the scent of incense greeting and enveloping her in its comfort. She took her usual seat in the back, clutching a worn bible between both her hands as she prayed silently, in solitude.

Two priests noticed her from their place a little ways off. "She's back," one said.

The other replied quietly, "She comes here every year." He shifted a bit uncomfortably, fingering the crucifix round his neck. "She always does the same, every time."

"Yes," said the first. "But God has forgiven her. And what has He to forgive? She's done nothing wrong."

The second nodded solemnly. "But still her soul bears great guilt and pain."

"It is none of our business," the first informed him sternly.

"But her pain . . ."

"It will soon lie with another, I fear," the first said evenly.

"How do you know?" the second asked curiously.

"I fear . . . I feel . . ." he trailed off, lowering his eyes.

Ann was still praying silently, letting the sounds of the cathedral sink deep into her soul. She could hear the music, the mass, the voices . . .

"_Pie Jesu . . ._"

"Sweet Jesus," she mumbled, closing her eyes even more tightly.

"_Pie Jesu Domine . . ._"

"Sweet Lord Jesus," she whispered quietly, her breath rattling in her breast. She clung tighter to the book.

"_Dona eis requiem . . ._"

"Grant them rest," her fingers began trembling, the closed volume shaking with them.

"_Dona eis requiem . . ._"

"Rest!" she whispered fiercely, as if willing it to be so.

"_Dona eis requiem sempiternam . . ."_

"Grant them everlasting rest . . ." she allowed a single tear to fall.

"_Sempiternam . . ._"

"Everlasting," she said softly, and then, as if that great expression of grief and faith had never occurred, she stood, replaced the bible in its little nook and walked off deeper into the cathedral, hands still folded as if in eternal prayer.

"_Sempiternam,_" said the first priest to his companion, his voice even, unwavering.

"_Requiem,_" the other replied, and the two dispersed.

Ann found her way to the familiar, small, dark room, locking herself inside. She'd been there once a year since . . . since . . . since the event. It was an anniversary she wished she could forget, but it would always haunt her, and so she acknowledged it in the only way she could think to do so. She placed her hand on the wall, watching as the small, screened door opened at eye level. "Father," she whispered to the man she knew to be on the other side. It did not matter if it were a different person, or if he did not remember her yearly visit, she knew she could trust him, and trust him she must.

"Child?"

"Father, I have sinned . . ." she whispered, ashamed.

_Absolve Domine animas omnium fidelium defunctorum ab omno vinculo delictorum et gratia tua illis succurente mereantur evadere iudicium ultionis, et lucis æterne beatitudine perfrui._

* * *

Waiting for Kim at her locker, Ron leaned gainst it, folding his arms, pondering over the eternal question, why is it that girls take so long to change clothes? He shook his head slightly, glancing at his watch. They were going to be late, he thought, although he wasn't quite sure for what. They always did something after practice, whether it was a mission or a quick snack at Bueno Nacho. 

Pulling him from the unchanging sight of his clock was that familiar voice. "Penny for your thoughts?" it asked.

He looked up and smiled. "Oh, hey, Kim. Ready?"

"Naturally," she smirked, leaning her arm against a locker. He took in her appearance for the first time since she'd arrived, only to realize she was wearing her mission clothes.

"Wait . . ." he said, standing up straight. "Do we have a mission or something?"

She smiled mischievously. "Nope!"

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. "Then . . . why are you dressed like that? Did Kim-style make a comeback or something?"

She shook her head. "No, but I've got a surprise for you."

He looked at her iquisitively, wary of whatever was going on in that little head of hers. "Okay, then . . ." he ventured cautiously.

She beamed at him before shooing him to the side for access to her locker. She stashed a few books therein then slammed it shut. "You know how you always complain that I'm the one who's always kicking butt and taking names?"

He snorted.

"Well . . . I arranged for us to train together!" She beamed at him, and, if it weren't Kim, and he weren't the school 'loser', he would have sworn she was flirting with him.

And, of course, he was appreciative, but he couldn't help but be a little apprehensive. "Awww, Kim," he scratched the back of his neck. "That's great and all, but I'm more of the 'push buttons' sidekick . . ."

She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a stern look, her foot tapping with irritation on the floor. "Ron."

"And ya know," he continued, "you're awfully busy. Don't want to take too much of your time . . ."

"Ron!"

He turned to look at her, and immediately regretted it. Her lower lip was sticking out a considerable distance, meanwhile her eyes were bright and shiny, thus creating the ultimate weapon: the puppy dog pout.

"Awww, Kim, so not fair!" His resolve had crumbled; he was putty in her hands. He sighed. "Okay, okay, I'll train with you. Happy?"

She beamed and threw her arms round his neck. "I knew you'd agree!"

_Hosanna in excelsis._

* * *

Drew Lipsky, better known as the 'evil genius' Dr. Drakken, sorted through a box of old papers, various mementos scattered round him on the floor. It was finally time to clean out his old things and make room for the new. 

Soon, he came across a tattered manila folder, stuffed full of old letters, complete with envelopes.

He remembered what this was.

After dropping out of school, he'd kept busy, keeping track of his so-called friends, in an effort to have revenge against them, as he felt entitled to. This entailed intercepting letters, emails, packages . . . small-time villainy, but it was a good hobby when he was starting up. Not that he actually bothered to read any of the messages that he'd kept, but it was the principle of the thing.

"Hmm . . ." He looked at the stack, an idea flickering somewhere in the back of his mind.

He began sorting through the papers, mostly full of emails about homework (from the early days) and going on, those of job announcements, wedding invitations and family tragedies. Only then did he notice an unopened envelope, addressed to Dr. Chen, written by Dr. James Possible.

Curious, he tore open the seal.

The letter inside was vaguely tattered, as if it had been reread many times before having been sent, perhaps cried on. It was written in James' familiar, sprawling handwriting, even more illegible than usual. It was old, he saw, and, glancing over the contents, he saw there was a notable cold edge to the writing, as if the author were trying to contain some deep emotion.

But soon, that familiar, demonic grin formed on his face.

This was the answer to his prayers.

_-October 2, 1987-_

_My dear friend,_

_First off, I sincerely hope you are enjoying your stay with your family. Asia seems so far from here and we all miss you dearly. Ann sends her love, as well. I do hope you will return soon, for there is much I hope to tell you in person, but for now, this will have to do._

_Ann and I would like to thank you for your support following the terrible happenings of the past year, the loss of an unborn child is something few can seek to console, but you have done just that and with such care to detail. Your efforts have not been wasted, I assure you._

_But now, I am forced to ask your assistance once more in an equally trying situation. To put it simply, a short time ago, my dear Ann was violated . . . no, raped. I must say it, I suppose, for it is quite true. I will spare you the details of the scene in which I'd found her, but it is only right you know the struggles with which we are contending right now. We have not gone to the authorities, considering the interesting circumstances in which we find ourselves now; I will explain when we'll be able to meet in person and in private once more._

_But, I must tell you now for fear of my conscience consuming me, of the only clue we'd found at the scene (her office). There was a sword, thank Heavens unused on poor Ann, with jewels inlaid in the hilt, and a seemingly ancient but sharpened blade. I am not sure what to make of it, but that it unnerves me to no end. We have kept it, of course, safely bundled and hid away in the closet. Funny, most people keep skeletons there, and we, we have a sword._

_And worse, I fear she is falling ill, for she complains of vomiting most everyday, but as the day progresses, her symptoms seem to decrease. She is my world, you know, and I don't know how I should deal with these devastating times._

_Please, my friend, I am asking for your help once more in these dark times._

_Yours truly,_

_James_

"October 1987?" Drakken mused. He grinned, "Kim Possible was born June 1988." Looking up from the old letter, a knowing gleam shining in his eyes, he laughed, "Perfect."

_Ne absorbeat eas tartarus, ne cadant in obscurum . . ._

* * *

Kim grunted as Ron dodged another one of her attacks. _How did he get so good? He doesn't do this when we're on missions!_ She blew a lock of hair out of her face and swiveled around to face him, noting that he made no move for the offensive, simply standing there, only slightly fatigued, waiting for her next blow. 

The dojo was empty save themselves; the owner had owed her a favor, and she decided surprising Ron was worth cashing it in. However, she'd not seen something like this coming. After all, she never lost.

Kim tried a leg sweep, but no luck; he jumped. She'd not landed a hit yet, and she wasn't happy about it. She wondered if she were having an off-day, but highly doubted it, as she managed to flawlessly execute every cheerleading move at practice that day.

"Ready for a break, KP?" Ron asked matter-of-factly.

She growled in annoyance. "Come on, Ron."

He shrugged and began circling her, looking for weaknesses. She held a defensive position, narrowing her gaze in concentration. Finally, he lunged forward, and in a series of three quick strikes managed to knock Kim to the ground in a redheaded, disgruntled pile.

He turned to help her up, but she, with a less than pleasant air, knocked his feet out from under him, causing him to fall down partly on top of her. "KP! What was that for?"

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" was all she could muster, clearly enraged that Ron had been able to beat her at sparring, and easily at that.

He shrugged rolling off of her and lying down flat on the dojo floor.

She glared at him and growled, "Oh, don't you give me any of that." She propped herself up on one elbow looking over at him. "You never use any of those skills on missions. Why have you been hiding this from me?"

He grumbled something under his breath.

"What?" she asked, even more irritated than before.

"'Cause I couldn't!" he finally admitted, still lying down, gazing vacantly at the ceiling.

His rueful expression managed to cool her off a little. She began a bit more gently, "Why?"

"I can't tell you," he said quietly. He remained silent for several moments, finally realizing that her anger was a result of a sort of disappointment in the trust that held their friendship together.

He sat up wordlessly, patting the spot in front of him; she moved to sit there, gazing at him expectantly.

With a sigh, he began, "I really did want to tell you." He smiled at her. "Actually, you were the first person I wanted to tell." He bit his lip briefly, touching her hand gently as he overcame that sort of stress that comes along with telling a great secret. "Do you remember when I went to Japan for that week?"

"Of course." She raised an expectant eyebrow at him.

"Well, the school I went to there isn't a normal school. It's . . . it's a secret ninja school, if that explains anything."

At first she seemed skeptical, but as the pieces fell into place within the recesses of her mind, her face softened and she looked at him, totally believing and curious.

"I wasn't chosen to go there by pure chance, either."

Realization finally hit her and she confidently supplied, "Mystical Monkey Power."

"Exactly," he confirmed with a smile. "The founder of the school," he thought for a moment, then gave up, "I forget his name, was the master of Tai Shing Pek Kwar."

"Monkey Kung Fu."

"Yes," he said, and picked back up on his story. "He carved the monastery there out of the mountain using only a single sword called the Lotus Blade. This sword . . . well, it uses Mystical Monkey Power."

"Which you have."

"Mhm." From there, he wasn't sure where to continue. "When I was there, the Lotus Blade was stolen."

"Let me guess, Monkey Fist."

"Pretty obvious, huh?" She nodded and he continued. "Well, I had to go get it back, save the girl, you know, all that jazz-"

She cut him off, "Save the girl?"

If it wasn't 'impossible' for him to blush, she would've sworn he'd turned scarlet for that brief moment. "Well, yeah . . ." he scratched absently at the back of his neck. "My friend, Yori, she was . . . errr . . . kidnapped by Monkey Fist."

She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Friend?"

With a bit of amusement, he dropped his story. "Kim?" he asked with a grin. "Are you jelling?"

This startled her and she simply looked at him for a minute, her jaw agape. "No! Of course I'm not!" Her face promptly met the color of her hair.

He tittered for a moment. "Thanks, KP, that's really flattering," he said with a wink.

She growled and stood, stomping her foot and furrowing her eyebrows. She looked like she was going to say something, but simply grunted and began walking away. However, without her noticing, Ron had snuck up behind her and presently tackled her to the floor.

"Ron!"

He just laughed.

Still trapped beneath him, she grumbled, "So not cool."

And Ron just couldn't stop laughing.

_Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini._

* * *

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Shego began, annoyance evident in her voice. She held up the tiny computer-like device and sat on a nearby box. The lair was full of them; stupid timeshare lairs. She hated them just as much as he did, if not more. After all, her portable tanning bed was always packed away in the least convenient box. "We're stealing this, leaving it somewhere painfully obvious, letting her get it back, just to get a sample of her DNA?" 

"Precisely, Shego," the blue villain replied, as if the plan was painfully obvious.

"Then how are you going to get her parents' DNA? Have a ludicrous plan for that, too?" She rolled her eyes. "Oh! I know, you'll lure them somewhere with something equally stupid, right?"

He looked at her condescendingly. "Now, why on earth would I do that?"

"Uhhhh . . ."

"I'll have you know that both Drs. Possible gave blood yesterday."

Shego threw her arms up in the air. "Finally!"

Drakken quirked an eyebrow at her. "What?"

She sighed and groaned, pulling out her nail file. "Nevermind." She sat there for a moment, fixing her manicure while he tended to things here and there, pointlessly, probably, but it was what he did. "So Dr. D., why are we going to all this trouble? Couldn't we just, I don't know, sneak into her room and take some hair from her brush?"

"Bad villain form, Shego," he informed her, the familiar lecture already forming on his lips as she cut him off.

"I know, I know," she groaned. "But why some party?"

He seemed offended, a hand poised on his chest. "It's not just some _party_! It's a _masked ball_." And somehow this made it different.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, so why this _masked ball_?" She held her hand out front to examine her earlier handiwork.

He shrugged. "It's something new."

_In memoria aeterna erit iustus ab auditione mala non timebit._

* * *

Ann made her way from the cathedral to the park, feeling the need to revisit some fonder memories. She felt the heels of her shoes sink into the soft soil, looking up to the sky as her mind sent her back, beyond her greatest sin, to one of the happiest days of her life. The playground was deserted, free of children playing, the way it was at night, when two young doctors would go gallivanting after their date. 

She sat down on the swing and closed her eyes.

"_James!" the young redhead laughed, dodging her boyfriend's ruthless tickle attack. She grabbed the edges of her dress and bunched them up, better allowing her to run, her high heel shoes already abandoned by the path._

_Meanwhile, the young rocket scientist, fresh out of his final years of schooling, chased after her, his loosened tie fluttering in the gentle breeze. He grinned at her, stopping for a moment to be certain his precious cargo was still safe within the folds of his breast pocket, before chasing after her once more, finally managing to grab onto her waist from behind, pulling them both down to the cool grass. She immediately nestled within his embrace._

"_Thanks, James," she began, speaking softly. "I had a wonderful time tonight."_

_He smiled broadly, tightening his hold on her. "I'm glad you had a good time," he confided, absently running his thumbs in circles on her back._

_They lay like that for a long time, neither saying a word, simply enjoying the night, seeking warmth from one another._

"_I love you, Ann," he whispered honestly, nearly shaking in his nervousness._

"_I love you, too, James," she replied, turning more completely into him, resting her cheek on his chest._

_He stiffened._

"_James? James, what's wrong?" She felt something hard beneath her chin._

_He stuttered for a moment, before getting an idea. "I . . . err . . . there's something in my pocket. Would you mind getting it for me?" His nervous smile should have given him away, but still she rummaged around, tugging the soft little box from his pocket._

"_James?" she asked, staring at the object incredulously._

"_Open it," he whispered, his voice trembling._

_She did._

_Inside, she found a single diamond mounted on a simple gold band. She gasped. "James?" She was tearful, biting her lip to contain her emotions._

"_Will you?" he murmured, looking at her beseechingly._

_He saw her head move slightly._

"_Was that a yes?" he queried, the churning in his gut intensifying. "Please, God, tell me that was a yes."_

_Her nod was more prominent now. "Yes." The word was barely audible but it was enough. "Yes!" she shrieked, embracing him tightly, her lips searching for his._

_After much celebration, he slipped the ring onto her finger, reverently. He smiled at her, touching her hair briefly. "You're an angel," he said fondly._

_Something moved in the bushes._

Ann stood and made her way home, her once dark thoughts now conquered with images of love.

_Quaerens me, sedisti lassus: redemisti Crucem passus: tantus labor non sit cassus._

* * *

Between bites of her taco, Kim heard the familiar tones of her Kimmunicator ring out through Bueno Nacho. 

_Beep beep beep-beep!_

She pulled the little device out from her back pocket, pressing a button. "Hey Wade, what's the sitch?"

"Hey, Kim," he greeted. "You got a hit on your site."

"Top secret lab?" she guessed, gazing across, disgusted, at Ron who was trying to devour a naco in as little bites as possible.

"What else?" Wade sighed. "You'd think these guys'd amp up security. But anyways, a lab in Utah has developed a nano-circuit-database."

"And I know what this means how?" Ron asked from the other side of the table.

"All of the United States' government's top secret information stored in a micro computer that can fit in the palm of your hand," Wade explained.

"Any leads?" Kim asked, annoyed that this was taking so long.

"None of who, but I do know where," Wade responded, typing again.

"Spill."

"Just outside of London, there's this annual masked ball. The nano-circuit-database gives off a unique energy signal, and I found its source: in a private room at the location of the ball."

Kim raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's new."

"I'll say."

She leaned her chin in her hand. "Got a ride?" she asked, looking dejectedly at her now cold taco.

"Nakasumi-san," he responded, busy typing away at his computer. "Pick you up at your house in twenty minutes."

She sighed, giving her meal a disappointed look. She was rather hungry, after all. "Thanks, Wade."

Ron slurped up the remainder of his soda and stood, waiting for her impatiently. "Come on, KP, we don't wanna be late."

She looked at him skeptically, standing and gathering their garbage onto the tray. "You seem excited."

"Of course!" he enthused, "Nakasumi-san. Videogames. Toys. Long flight. How _can't_ I be excited?"

She rolled her eyes, dumping the tray's contents into a nearby trashcan. "Come on, _Mystical Monkey Boy_," she teased. "Let's hit my house and change before they get here."

_In paradisum deducant te Angeli._

* * *

Crawling through the ventilation shaft, her bare midriff scraping against the harsh metal, Kim kept careful watch on the map on the screen of the Kimmunicator. Noting their location and their destination, she stopped to recount their turns, allowing Ron to promptly bump into her rear end, causing the pair to collapse onto their stomachs (or Kim's legs, in Ron's case). 

"Ron!" she groaned quietly, looking behind herself. "Head in the game!" she whispered fiercely.

"Sorry, KP," he replied, struggling to get off of her.

She harrumphed, blowing some hair out of her face and continuing on her way, Ron following close (but not too close; he'd learned his lesson) behind.

They were on their way to the room in which the nano-circuit-database was said to be kept, following a crude layout of the ventilation system Wade had managed to hack his way into. Why on earth any self-respecting villain would hide their newest loot in some British estate in the middle of a masked ball was beyond Kim's understanding, but, after all, it was unexpected and new, and that was all that mattered to the likes of Drakken, Killigan, Monkey Fist and the rest.

Well, at least they weren't smart enough to start hiding things in places without people-sized vents.

While Kim was intent on the mission, Ron was still daydreaming about the wonderful flight from Middleton to London. Nakasumi-san was truly his hero. Hours upon hours of videogames and toys . . . could life get any better? Well, perhaps, if he had won.

Somehow, Kim had managed to beat him at every single game he threw at her, usually not by much, but she had still won. There was one game she would not play, though, one whose name he did not know, for the title was a Japanese word he'd never before heard, but it had looked quite interesting.

It was of a girl, no doubt meant to be the same age as Kim and himself, cloaked in black and white, turning about herself to reveal a slender form, her arms outstretched. Behind her shimmered two white gossamer wings, but as the feathers outspread, they blackened and shriveled, leaving the tips of the two glorious appendages demonic. And, oddly enough, the girl was not Japanese as was to be expected, nor was she blonde and blue-eyed as some such characters were. Her hair was a fiery red, and her eyes, piercing and bright, were the color of jade.

If she weren't obviously CGI, Ron would've sworn it was a manipulated photo of his best friend.

He'd seen it, and, excited by the resemblance, showed it to Kim, insisting they play. Taking it from him, she'd looked over the English bits on the back, opened it and looked it over. She couldn't help but see the resemblance, naturally, and it was vaguely unnerving, but perhaps it was intentional. _It's not like I'm not some sort of world-famous icon or anything,_ she'd thought. She considered playing with him, but decided that the uncanny resemblance would bother her, and suggested they play something else.

But now, crawling through some musty old ventilation shaft in some British estate, he realized just what he'd been in possession of: the new, rare Nakasumi RPG videogame, yet to be released in the states.

"Aw, man!" he moaned.

"Head in the game, Ron!" Kim hissed.

They continued on in silence.

Once again, she stopped, as did Ron (fortunately). She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Here we are," she whispered. "Got the plan?"

"I came up with it!" he returned.

She snickered slightly, "You mean you listened intently and still got confused?"

He glared at her jokingly. "Ron Factor, Kim. Ron Factor."

She rolled her eyes and proceeded to ignite her laser lipstick, detaching the grating from the shaft, allowing them entrance.

"Go time."

Kim attached a small device to the top of the shaft and slowly began to lower herself down on the wire. Ron waited, albeit a bit impatiently, for her to jump off before quickly following her down.

The room was rather unkempt for such an estate, the walls lined with boxes and beat up furniture, all covered in a thick layer of dust. There were a few lamps, most sitting, rather out of place as it was, on the ground, dimmed but still alight, filling the room with an eerie glow. Hanging from the ceiling by rusty chains was a small chandelier, ornate in design, but having seen its better days. The original candles, still in place, were melted down to the base, dried wax dripping over the edge, caught in a net of cobwebs.

But on a table, to the surprise of Kim and Ron, lay a small box, forged of that generic kind of metal of which all secret labs seemed to create their inventions' containers.

Ron crossed to the table, taking the metal case in his hand before opening it to assure the device was actually present. "Looks like it's all here," he shrugged. "Could Drakken have gotten any more obvious?"

A door closed behind them.

They turned, only to be greeted by a familiar sight, full of raven hair and emerald eyes.

"Oh, yes, I think he could."

_Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Domine Deus Sabaoth; pleni sunt coeli et terra gloria tua._

* * *

Ann closed the door behind her as she entered her home, grateful for the rest. She gently pressed her keys onto the kitchen table, sitting down in one of the hard wooden chairs. It had certainly been an emotionally trying day, and more than anything right now, she needed James. Unfortunately, he was busy working, desperate enough to employ the assistance of their twin sons, having been unable to get the day off as he always had in these past years. 

Yes, annually, she'd go off on her little quest for forgiveness, walking regardless of the weather, and when she'd return, James would be waiting for her, a plate of his atrocious (and yet very much welcomed) home cooking on the table, maybe a candle here and there. Only now did she realize how much it had always meant to her.

In a sense, it was very romantic, but they never made love on this night; never. There was something inherently wrong with the thought, for him to touch her in that way on such an anniversary, but instead he'd hold her late into the night, tenderly stroking her hair as she'd cry and sometimes fall asleep within the comfort of his embrace. Often they'd kiss, chastely, needing to be near one another, and he'd lift her in his strong arms, unable to undo the wrong that had been done, but feeling he eased her pain some, would continue his gentle ministrations until the stars began to set and the sun to rise.

She stretched out her legs, kicking off her shoes and flexing her sore feet. She let out a deep yawn and saw the note before her. She picked it up, glancing over its contents quickly.

_Mom and Dad–_

_Ron and I got called out for a mission in Europe, should be a quickie. Tried to call your cells, but you didn't pick up. Sorry about the short notice. Will be home late; don't wait up for us (but a midnight snack would be much appreciated)._

_Love,_

_-Kim_

_P.S.: Can Ron stay the night? His parents are out and we'll be late. Call the Kimmunicator if not._

Ann smiled at that. That was her daughter, always off on some sort of adventure with that friend of hers. She awaited the day when perhaps they'd see each other as something more than 'just friends,' knowing Ronald was the only man who could ever care that much about her daughter. He was loyal, kind and caring, and the sparkle in his eyes as he gazed upon her . . . she knew; it was mother's intuition, of course.

But that day was a long ways off, but she knew it would come.

She shivered slightly, realizing she was home alone on the worst possible day. She hurried to the door and dead bolted it, tugging on the handle a few times to be sure no-one would enter without her knowledge. Paranoia, it was her way of life on days like these.

In fact, it would be wise to check on the little bundle.

She fled up the stairs, taking a sharp turn to hers and her husband's room, quickly throwing her closet door wide open and immediately entering. She fell to her knees, her hands almost trembling as she sorted through the various pieces of clothing and discarded shopping bags left in the corner.

But when her hands met no resistance, she began to grow desperate, throwing the items behind her in a mad frenzy. A sweater here, some pumps there, and still she'd not found what she was looking for. Tears threatened her and she sped up, careless of where her belongings were landing; only now realizing that _these weren't here before._ She'd always kept her closet very neat and organized, only two or three bags covering the precious item she kept there, and now there were clothes hangers littering the floor, as if someone had been there.

And she knew it wasn't James.

She threw the remainder of the items out of the little cubicle, but not finding what she had been looking for. She buried her face in her hands and let out a heart wrenching sob, certain that she wasn't safe, that she would be found and punished again as she had been before. She yanked the door shut and collapsed, her hands crushed together, whispering prayers over and over that James would come first.

_Quantus tremor est futurus, quando judex est venturus, cuncta stricte discussurus!_

* * *

Immediately, Shego lunged at the pair, green electricity forming around her hardened fists. Ron, thanks to his dumb luck (or rather, 'dumb skill' as he often reminded Kim), managed to dodge her initial attack, her arms sweeping dangerously above his head as he struggled to keep the nano-circuit-database from their attacker. 

But, to both Kim's and Ron's surprise, she didn't seem at all interested in retrieving the device, only in fighting.

Kim, unlike Ron, was stuck in a full force battle with her arch enemy. Shego launched a flying kick attack, forcing Kim to catch her foot, springing her away in a complicated counterattack, full of acrobatics.

"Oh, come on, Princess, don't wanna play anymore?" Shego mocked, popping her hip in a challenging pose.

Kim snorted, "As if," and ran to her, landing a hit to the elder woman's head with a round kick, following it with a little spin, just for show.

Shego grinned, apparently undisturbed by the blow she'd just received, flipping forward with a front handspring, she launched into a series of punches, all of which Kim managed to block with expert skill. She dropped for a leg sweep, but the redhead managed to jump before her feet were knocked out from beneath her.

Kim grinned, "Ready to give up?"

A simple sneer was enough for Shego as she leapt up to hang onto the dusty old chandelier, swinging herself forward, landing an unavoidable blow to the younger woman, her feet neatly contacting her chest. Kim stumbled backwards and fell to the ground with a loud, disgruntled "oof!"

She rolled backwards onto her hands, kicking up to land gracefully on her feet in a skillful kip-up, and assumed a defensive position, glaring at Shego through her eyelashes. She circled around, bending forward to land a kick to the villainess' back before promptly jumping to another kick, which Shego managed to block, grabbing onto Kim's foot and twisting it, forcing her to fall stomach-first onto the ground.

Meanwhile, Ron was busy planning a surprise attack on Shego. The nano-circuit-database secure in his cargo pant pocket, he had searched round and found an old sheet he could use in his rushed (if not lame) plan in getting her to lay off Kim.

Still caught up in the fighting, Kim had managed to recover herself and land a few more blows to Shego, who was still going full force, apparently unaware of whatever damage Kim had managed to inflict on her. In one effortful blow, Shego managed to slash into Kim's arm with her fingernails, leaving a series of four shallow gashes, blood seeping almost immediately. She cried out in pain.

"Kim!" Ron cried, distracted from whatever his plan had been with the old bed sheet.

Shego sneered something about Ron being the buffoon and wiped at Kim's arm with a sterile tissue, pocketing it immediately. "Thank you, Princess," she smirked, watching Kim who was gazing in disbelief at the wound on her bicep. "That's all I'll be needing," and before either Kim or Ron could know how, the villainess had disappeared entirely, leaving two very stunned teens.

Kim winced and held her wounded arm, immediately greeted with Ron's hands on her shoulders, guiding her to sit down. "That looks like it hurts," he commented, digging around in his pack for his first aid kit.

"Ya think?" she replied, not meaning to sound so harsh, but still reeling from the initial shock of the injury; after all, Shego had never drawn blood before.

And too, why had she _wanted_ it?

No time for that now.

Ron pulled out an alcohol wipe. "This'll sting," he warned.

"I'm not a baby, Ron," she chided, digging around in her pocket with her other arm for her Kimmunicator.

"Okay, then." He wiped the wound, knowing Shego's powers would most likely infect it. She flinched. Giving her a knowing look, he leaned forward and blew softly.

"Thanks," she said meekly.

He smiled up at her, then began wrapping her arm in gauze.

She pressed the call button on the Kimmunicator. "Hey, Wade," she greeted.

"Hey, what happened to your arm?"

She rolled her eyes, "Long story. But we got the nano-circuit, when's our pick-up?"

He typed a little, "Uhhhh . . . won't be there for a few hours."

She sighed.

"Sorry," he apologized sincerely. "But hey, it's a party there, you've gotta be able to find _something_ to do."

"A masked ball," Ron reminded, tying off the gauze and putting away the supplies.

"Well, there's gotta be some spare costumes lying around, right?"

_Domine, cum sanctis tuis in aeternum, quia pius es._

* * *

When James Possible returned home after dropping off his sons at a friend's house, he found the house apparently empty. "Ann?" he called out, worried. He received no response. He saw the note from Kim on the kitchen table and read through it quickly. _Well, that explains part of it._ But, too, underneath were a pair of Ann's shoes, and she never left her things lying around like that. 

His worry increasing, he made his way to his bedroom, tugging his tie loose and kicking off his own shoes. "Ann?" he called.

He was greeted with a quiet whimper coming from the direction of his wife's closet. "Oh, God," he breathed, quickly opening the door to find the poor redhead sobbing prayers in the midst of wrinkled clothing.

"Oh, Ann," he whispered, dropping to his knees and gathering her into his arms.

She cried openly onto his shoulder, her entire body shaking in her grief. "James," she sobbed. "You came, you came . . ."

He rubbed her back, gently soothing her. "Ann . . . I'm sorry I wasn't here, I'm so sorry . . ."

"He's going to get me, James," she cried, clinging to him. "He's going to find me; he knows where I am . . ."

"What?" he whispered, terror lacing his voice. "Ann, calm down."

"He took it, James, he took it!" she shrieked, her fingernails clawing at his shirt.

"Wha . . . ?" he looked to the corner of the closet, only to see a gaping emptiness there. Horror hit him and he held her closer.

She whimpered, "He took it, he took the sword . . ."

_Liber scriptus proferetur, in quo totum continetur, unde mundus judicetur._

* * *

Ron entered the ballroom, feeling rather out of place. Naturally, there had been two costumes lying around in a nearby room, just their luck, but this was way not funny. 

The man's costume had been something entirely out of place, something he was sure someone else in this gathering would find ironic and hilarious at once, not to mention how awkwardly his stature managed to fit such a role.

Upon his legs, he wore red tights.

No, not cool at all.

He was dressed as a Victorian Red Death, complete with tights and feathered hat, known from Edgar Allan Poe's famous story. Now, in his mind, he could only think of that show they'd saved recently (a man had been running around backstage in a mask, supposedly wreaking havoc on the cast, when really he was just a stagehand trying to lighten the mood). Something about a masked ghost in an opera or something.

But there was a masked ball in the show, and the masked dude came as Red Death, too. Surely, Kim would find it funny. That is, if he could ever find her.

She'd finished changing first, and now, in this mess of masks and costumes, he could not for the life of him figure out which one was her.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around.

Before him stood just the person he'd been looking for, her red hair tossed hastily up into a bun, a rim of crystals and diamonds adorning her wonderful head. The area around her eyes was covered in a pearl white mask, beaded and jeweled accordingly. She wore a simple, white dress, one that more than showed off her beautiful body. Two sheer, white wings bobbed along behind her, completing the ensemble. "Why, Mr. Death," she smirked. "Could I have this dance?" She was giggling, but he wouldn't miss this opportunity.

He bowed to her, and she played along, curtseying accordingly, before taking him into a ballroom position. He was clumsy at this form of dancing, surely, and she wound up leading half the time, but the next couple hours were full of smiles and laughter, the kind that only best friends can share.

And, through all this, Ron could only think, _man, she looks like an angel._ And she truly did. The other couples in the room noticed them, of course, and a few even recognized Kim (though with the mask, she couldn't be sure how) as the famous Kim Possible, and dared not remove her, although it was assumed she'd not been invited. 'Who is that she's dancing with? Her boyfriend?' many asked, but none ever guessed that it might be her sidekick (no, partner, she called him) and best friend, Ron Stoppable.

But he didn't care. Tonight, all that mattered was her, and how for these few brief hours, she was _his_ angel, and his alone.

When it grew late, Kim stepped closer and laid her head against Ron's shoulder as they danced.

_Dona eis requiem._

_

* * *

_

_-_Latin Translations_-_

_-Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. - _Grant them eternal rest, O Lord, and may everlasting light shine upon them.  
_-Exaudi orationem meam; ad te omnis caro veniet. - _Hear my prayer; unto thee all flesh shall come.  
_-Absolve Domine animas omnium fidelium defunctorum ab omno vinculo delictorum et gratia tua illis succurente mereantur evadere iudicium ultionis, et lucis æterne beatitudine perfrui. - _Forgive, O Lord, the souls of all the faithful departed from all the chains of their sins and may they deserve to avoid the judgment of revenge by your fostering grace, and enjoy the blessedness of everlasting light.  
_-Hosanna in excelsis. -_ Hosanna in the highest.  
_-Ne absorbeat eas tartarus, ne cadant in obscurum . . . - _Do not letTartarus swallow them, nor let them fall into darkness . . .  
_-Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini. - _Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.  
_-In memoria aeterna erit iustus ab auditione mala non timebit. - _He shall be justified in everlasting memory, and shall not fear evil reports.  
_-Quaerens me, sedisti lassus: redemisti Crucem passus: tantus labor non sit cassus. -_ Seeking me, you sat exhausted; you redeemed me by suffering on the Cross; so great a work should not be in vain.  
_-In paradisum deducant te Angeli. - _May angels lead you into Paradise.  
_-Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Domine Deus Sabaoth; pleni sunt coeli et terra gloria tua. - _Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Hosts; Heaven and earth are full of Thy glory.  
-_Quantus tremor est futurus, quando judex est venturus, cuncta stricte discussurus! -_ What horror must invade the mind, when the approaching judge shall find, and sift the deeds of all mankind.  
-_Domine, cum sanctis tuis in aeternum, quia pius es. - _O Lord, with thy saintsin eternity, for thou art merciful.  
-_Liber scriptus proferetur, in quo totum continetur, unde mundus judicetur. -_ The written book shall be brought forth, in which all is contained, from which the world will be judged.  
-_Dona eis requiem. - _Grant them rest.


End file.
